


you did your worst.  ( you tried your best )

by rotwound



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, arthur just wants to do some good for the gang before he dies, like all of my fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotwound/pseuds/rotwound
Summary: after the events of guarma, arthur began a rapid downward descent that lead him to a singular moment of burning clarity: there was only one way this gang would make it out of this mess alive, and it would all be without him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	you did your worst.  ( you tried your best )

what he was doing back in strawberry, arthur hadn't a damn clue. more and more, that became all too common for arthur — washed up after a night of drinking his sorrows some place other than where he started. he was letting himself go. hardly saw a point anymore, the direction the gang was going in. sean, kieran, hosea, lenny — hell, they'd almost even lost john. would have, too, if it weren't for sadie's help and the last strings of hope arthur harboured in his dying soul. the sickness was slowly eating him alive, day by day. felt it creep into his bones like the cold of the harshest winter and made him shiver when others would sweat. arthur's time was nigh on the horizon, he knew that. just didn't know exactly what hour it would take him. if he would have time to say goodbye. no one ever did — said goodbye, before they passed. none of the gang members had the grace of knowing their life was going to end and yet here arthur was, daydreaming of it, like a child dreamed of candy. sweet; sought after. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
today, he woke in the strawberry welcome center still fully dressed and with a hangover hammering at his temples. no — he can remember, now, what he was doing here. he'd agreed to meet milton and his men by the upper montana river to turn himself in, in exchange for the gang to have more time to flee the country. he'd told no one else, on the off chance they would attempt to free him — knew some of those bastards still reeked of life but christ, arthur did not. not anymore. he lifts his sorry head from the pillow and grabs his hat off the nightstand next to the bed; covers dirty blond locks with it and forces himself into a sitting position. he thinks: if this headache were a person, it would be screaming at him. he thinks: it will not have to scream much longer.

sunlight was just hardly beginning to cascade through the window and onto arthur's sorrowing form; made hopelessly skinny by his illness, and easily shaken as a cough wrecked his posture. blood droplets spill past pale, almost purple lips; where they don't stain his skin they hit the floorboards and stain that instead, but arthur bothers enough to wipe them away from his lips. doesn't want to call attention to any strangers. only to milton. back at beaver hollow, arthur wonders who was awake — wonders if john had found his note tucked just under old boy's saddle. felt too exposed, leaving such a thing by his tent. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

❜ 𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦-𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘫𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘳𝘺 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯. 𝘪 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺. ⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯. 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬. 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰. 𝘣𝘶𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺. 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘰𝘰. 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦. 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺. 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯.

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘪'𝘮 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦. 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪 𝘢𝘮. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
𝘢.𝘮. ❜⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

milton had agreed to meet arthur by noon, and arthur intended to fulfill that proposition wholly. with another stifled cough, arthur brings himself to unsteady feet and and slowly makes his way downstairs and out into the cold morning air. strawberry was cold in the mornings, sure — but not enough to make a normal man shiver and blow hot air into his hands like he was. arthur thinks, as he hooks one foot into the stirrup of his horse and mounts: if god were real, he was a sadistic bastard. this — turning himself in, buying the rest of the gang time even if the most of them did not deserve it anymore — was the last bit of control arthur felt he had over his life and he intended to use it. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
arthur meets little travelers on his way to the upper montana; greets them only with a nod if he is to be greeted at all. he wonders: do they know they are passing a dying man? he wonders: have they endured the same kind of pain, that they would at this point walk willingly into death's loving embrace? arthur had always thought death was the physical embodiment of hate; of destruction and of taking away what someone onced loved. but he thinks differently now. death is a lover. her caress is gentle and arthur can feel her wherever he goes, now; he was not alone because death never left his side, and he would see her more clearly soon enough. oh, how he longed for her. longed for her lips against his neck as she opened him up and spilled the lifeblood from his form. for, death was the only constant a dying man could have. yes; death is a lover.

arthur takes in his surroundings — the raven shire stalking the road beneath them with a slow walk, for they had time before milton would be expecting them. arthur only had two requests: that they would leave the gang alone for some time, and that if they were to hang him high, it would be out west. where his soul was born just as well where it would die. milton seemed happy enough to oblige. seemed. but arthur was not about to back down now; not when he would have the western sun on his back soon enough and he could go back home, finally. find out if there really was a heaven or a hell, or if behind death's door was merely an eternal slumber to lay to rest a soul that had endured far too much to carry alone. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
he reaches the riverbed soon enough; gently pulls on the reins to stop his horse, and he stares out at the lapping waves of flat iron lake. this spot here — it was where he, javier, and josiah had stopped a bunch of bounty hunters to save sean's skin. that was months ago, now. when arthur was still well and he genuinely believed dutch was right when he spoke, and not a lying son of a bitch he would kill himself if he had the strength to. oh, the things he would do if he was not sick. the people he could save. slowly, arthur dismounts; stumbles when he gets to his feet, but catches himself nonetheless. " go on, get. " he murmurs to the horse — but it's so quiet and pathetic the beast merely gives him a silent look. " i said, 𝘨𝘦𝘵. " arthur tries, and the horse flicks its tail idly. what was the saying — it was a straw, that broke the camel's back? " get the hell OUT OF HERE! " arthur yells with all the strength left in him; falls to his knees and chokes blood and saliva into the sand. finally, the shire stirs; trots a few steps away and seems agitated, now. but that wasn't enough for arthur. " don't you understand? i'm DYING, i don't NEED YOU ANYMORE! " he screams; feels the words leave his body like a weight, and he picks up a rock in his hand but he's too damn weak to throw it. the shire stirs again; trots further away and finds a point in the bank where it can flee. away from here.

only then, arthur finds calm. " mister morgan. " a fleeting sort of calm. slowly, arthur turns his head and sure enough there they are; agent milton, followed by two men and back on the ridge there's a prison wagon waiting with open doors. " you don't seem to be doing so well. all that running? " ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
" i got tuberculosis, agent. it's real bad. " arthur replies; wipes his mouth again and helps himself to his feet so he can face the other man. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
" i assume van der linde doesn't know you're here. " ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀

" he wouldn't care even if he did. you.. " arthur pauses; breathes in a shallow breath and nods, slowly, in defeat as he exhales again. " you were right. when you saw us, at clemens point — he made me believe in things weren't even real. made all of us that way. " ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
and that seems to please milton, because he smiles. the kind of smile when someone says ' i told you so ' and then they're proven wrong right before your own eyes. a sadistic sort of smile. " and if you see that now.. why are you trying to buy him time, mister morgan? " ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
" it's not for him, he's got good people in his mix. good people that he turned wrong like me but i know they got good hearts, agent, they do. they got a boy. i'm buyin' them time so they can get the hell out. " his voice comes in rasps; interrupted by a horrible cough every now and then. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
" always knew you were a good man, mister morgan. come, follow me. " milton waits for arthur to move before he does, too; falls behind arthur to make sure there were no attempted escapes. not that he would be able to, in that state. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
" where we goin'? " arthur asks; but he doesn't much care if he gets a reply. knows it'll all end the same, anyway. milton leads him up the ridge and some lawmen help arthur into the prison wagon, locking him inside. arthur is compliant.

" blackwater. you're due to be hanged tomorrow at noon, mister morgan, that was part of our deal. your life in exchange for theirs. " milton speaks with complete normality as if he was drinking a morning coffee with friends — arthur could only imagine the amount of men he's put to rest before and come tomorrow's evening one more would be added to that list. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

. . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

the western sun on beating down on arthur's back was entirely incomparable to the daylight out east. his feet move slow; hands are bound behind his back as he's lead by two lawmen up the stairs to the gallows. for as long as he was an outlaw, there was always talk of him being hanged — and arthur knew, deep down, this world would get its rightful revenge on his soul. that revenge stared him deep in the eyes in the form of the blackwater residents gathered to watch his demise. time moved slowly, now. seconds passed like hours and it felt like he'd been standing there for days by the time they wrap the noose around his neck; tighten it so he can't attempt to run. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀  
" 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯, 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨 ... " words slip past his mind like sand through fingers. time — time was a damn funny thing. as cerulean eyes close for the very last time, blackwater fades around him and he remembers all he can before his time is up. remembers his mother and when they'd pick flowers together. remembers mary and how it felt to kiss her for the first time. " ... 𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘯 ... " remembers eliza, and the unbridled excitement on her face when she told arthur she was with child. remembers isaac — oh, isaac — and those beautiful blue eyes that reflected the ocean on western shores. remembered the first time he met hosea and dutch, and how back then, times really weren't so bad. " ... 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 ... " arthur begins to wonder if there really were people on the other side. that perhaps, if god had mercy just once, he could see his boy again. his woman. all the men and women the gang had lost over the years. well — he was about to find out. " ... 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳. "


End file.
